Wanda hadn't been sure just what it was Magneto had meant when he said that everyone in Washington would be taught a lesson. He didn't share his plans with her too much. Peter probably didn't either. For all his hero worship of the man, Wanda figured that Magneto still only told Peter and the rest of them less than half of what went on in his head.
It was probably better that way. For all that Wanda admired the man, she didn't really want to know all his thoughts. When she had thought about his oratory over the airways, she figured that he probably meant blood was going to be spilt.
It was why she was relieved that they were only burning down the records storehouse. They had taken careful steps to make sure that there was no loss of life. It wouldn't do to give the media any statistics to report. That's what Astra had said, but Wanda was just happy that they weren't burning anyone to death.
She smiled as she dosed a cabinet with gasoline. Wanda sincerely hoped that they had back-up records somewhere. It might have been bad form to wish good luck to her enemies, but everything was about to go up in flames. It would certainly save them some trouble later if they had bothered to be careful.
Wanda tossed the empty can aside and strolled through the halls, her hands swinging absently by her side. The building was empty, and they had managed to drag all of the guards out a few hours later. Astra was currently keeping an eye on them, and, knowing her, probably kicking them around some too.
Her brother was off on another mission with Toad. He'd told her about blowing something up, but Wanda wasn't sure that she believed him. Sure, they had the firepower to blow things up now, but just because they could do something didn't mean that they were going to. It was more likely they were going to set something on fire.
Magneto was at a third location, declining help. She knew that, since he'd assigned Jason to her and Peter, he wouldn't be going with him. He hadn't wanted to take Astra along with him, and she couldn't blame him. Wanda wished that he would have taken Peter though. It just felt better to go in twos.
As far as she knew, the plan was to destroy government property every night, starting with three buildings. The targets would escalate over the next few days, terminating in something bigger every night. It was meant to send a message, and a big one.
She turned a corner and heard movement in one of the rooms. The noise startled her, but she quickly pressed herself against the wall. She didn't think that anyone had seen her, but she had to be careful. Wanda was more powerful than any five security guards put together, but it someone got a lucky shot in then she would still be dead.
Making her movements careful, Wanda peeked around the corner. Jason was in one of the rooms, leaning over a filing cabinet. She was about to call out to him, tell him to stop fooling around, when he pulled a few files out of the cabinet.
Her eyes narrowed and she stayed where she was. She knew for a fact that Magnet wasn't interested in any of the files in the department. If he'd wanted information he would have told her, or he would have sent more people. He certainly wouldn't have ordered the building burned down if it was producing interesting data.
She withdrew from her position and crept back a few pace. Wanda squared her shoulders and began walking as loudly down the hallway as she could, making sure that her heels clicked no the floor.
"Mastermind!" she called.
His mission name sounded silly, but given that hers was three words long, she figured that she could let this one slide. At least he didn't go by it all the time. No matter what, he had to know that she was coming. It would disrupt too much if he didn't.
She saw him come out of the room and Wanda yawned.
"Are you done?" she asked.
"Quite," he said.
Jason looked around and shrugged.
"I suppose it's time to leave," he said.
"The place smells like the inside of a car, so yeah," Wanda said, "I'd say that it's time to go."
He fell into step beside her. Wanda preferred it that way, since it meant that she could keep an eye on him when he did that. She preferred when he went in front of her, there was more distance, but beside wasn't too bad.
"You know, we never did finish that conversation about where you hailed from," Jason said.
"I told you," sighed Wanda, "And I don't know why you care."
"Origins are very important," he said, "Did your parents never teach you that?"
"Becoming The Scarlet Witch was all about leaving my origins behind," snapped Wanda, "And I suspect you had similar motives when you joined the Hellfire Club."
Jason chortled.
"Yes, I suppose you could say that," he said, "But you're also getting rather closer to your origins, in your own way."
"What does that mean?" demanded Wanda.
"Nothing," he said, "Or everything."
"Is it just a hobby, being cryptic?" snapped Wanda.
"Not a hobby: a talent," Jason said, "I've always been rather good at it."
She rolled her eyes and walked outside. Astra was waiting impatiently. Wanda noticed that her face seemed thinner in the harsh streetlights, the circles under her eyes more pronounced. The Brotherhood worked irregular hours, but just how much sleep was she getting? Even Wanda wondered if she should say something to someone.
Astra kicked a guard next to her. Wanda gave them a quick glance. They were a little worse for wear, but nothing major.
"Are you two done yet?" Astra demanded.
"No, we just decided to walk out here," said Wanda.
She crossed her arms.
"Can we lit it up yet?" she asked.
"Just as soon as we get the signal," Astra said.
Wanda gazed out at the horizon. She didn't have to wait too long. The sky suddenly flared orange in the distance, joined by another flare after a handful of minutes. Astra smiled to herself and walked over to the building. Wanda turned her head to watch as she struck a few matches.
The building only smirked at first, but it quickly caught. They had practically painted it with gasoline. She watched it burn, her eyes filling with the sight of fire and her mind with questions about the papers Jason had stolen.
"Should we say something to the students?" asked Hank.
Charles didn't respond, not at first. He just kept looking out the window. Unlike most of his students, he watched the early morning news. Three archive buildings outside of D.C. had burnt to the ground. The Brotherhood had claimed responsibility shortly afterwards.
He rubbed his jaw and looked out the window, his mind swirling around two days. One day was familiar enough to him: he'd thought about Cuba so often that he sometimes wondered if he could recite every moment of it from start to finish. So much of his life had changed after that day, so many decisions, good and bad, had been made.
The other was the day at the White House, watching his sister be the woman he knew she was, and letting Erik go. If he'd let him be taken, then none of this would have happened. Charles wasn't sure that the outcome would have been a happy one, but he knew that this exact scenario would not have played out.
Hypotheticals had never gotten him anywhere, but this one was starting to weigh on him.
"Charles?" Hank asked.
He laced his hands together. He'd given up running his hands through his hair when he realized that it was thinning. He didn't like being reminded of that fact.
"I'm not sure what we would say. I can't think of anything that could calm them," said Charles, "No matter what, we're still telling them that the terrorist organization they're all scared of just made their move last night."
"But we should say something, shouldn't we?" Hank asked, "I mean, we should do something."
There it was. Charles closed his eyes. Behind the walls of the school, he was powerful. He was molding young minds, minds of the people he hoped would be the next generation of leaders. He was giving them the tools they needed to create change, to fight for the rights of their kind, give them the ability to be the voice of the voiceless. He was giving them the gift of a future.
However, with everything Erik destroyed, he could see that future narrowing. The image of himself, old, beaten, the cracks in his life and his heart beginning to show, staring back at him from a dark room lit only by the fires of war that raged outside.
He looked back at Hank, one of the most loyal men he had ever seen. He was also one of the most intelligent, and Charles considered himself privileged to be friends with him. there was something simple about the way he saw things, but also something clear.
"Something," Charles repeated.
He looked out the window again, the word clanging through his mind.
"Hank, I've been asking myself that for a while," he said, "I keep thinking that, surely, there must be something we can do. Surely we should be able to fix the problem in some manner. Sometimes I just tell myself that Erik will realize that what he is doing is hurting us."
Charles laughed.
"But if hearing about a world where our present course would end in destruction wouldn't change Erik's mind, then I'm not sure that I can wait any longer," he said, "I have a feeling that this latest attack is the start of something new, and we need to look at matters in a different light."
"When you say different..." Hank said.
Charles turned around and wheeled up to his desk. He began digging around his desk's top drawer, looking for his address book.
"I mean non-academic," he said, "I may be a peaceful man Hank, but there are times for protests, rallies, and speeches, and then there are times for something else."
He found his address book underneath a few graded papers. Charles brushed the papers off. It was a thick book, and several extra pages had been stuffed in since he'd bought it. Undoing the clasps, Charles began flipping through the pages. When he found the name he was looking for, he paused.
"I can't guarantee that this is the only time that we'll have to do this," he said, "And I can't guarantee that it's even going to work. But if there's one thing that I learned from what my sister did, it's that the actions of one can change a nation."
His eyes met Hank's.
"Will you follow me again?" he asked.
Hank smiled. There was so much pain in that small expression, a pain that they both shared. They had been through so much together, and while Charles knew Hank couldn't' stay at the Institute forever, he wished he could.
It meant so much to have someone who understood.
"Of course," he said.
"Thank you Hank," said Charles.
He felt a weight lift off his chest. He knew that there were going to be trials ahead, but they couldn't sit idly by anymore.
"I need to give Alex a call," he said.